How long must I wait? Are you ling’ring where
The blue-eyed angels your sweet kisses share?
Is your home so radiant that never more
Your steps will be heard at my lowly door?
Ah! what do I see through my blinding tears?—What
misty form through the tempest appears?
A cold hand now touches my burning brow,
A low voice whispers, “I am near thee now.”
Bend low—let me kiss thee, thou viewless thing;
No rising passion thy cold lips bring;
But hushed is the throb of my burning heart
As upward he bears me—no more to part.
THE END.